No Alarms and No Surprises, Please
by Dorminchu
Summary: "I walked. I could do nothing but walk. And then, I saw me walking in front of myself. But it wasn't really me. Watch out. The gap in the door… it's a separate reality. The only me is me. Are you sure the only you is you?" — Silent Hills [Or: A slightly different take on 4x11.]
1. 1

a/n: Implemented an idea or two from the original TV script, circa 2014. Also a fair bit of _The Twilight Zone/Fight Club_.

* * *

__Tremors shake the interior of the plant. The windows glow. A certain death waits beyond the opaque glass and heavy walls.  
In less than a minute we'll have saved the world.  
I look you in the eyes for the last time.  
I'm calmer than I should be.  
But you're here with me. It's more than I could ask for.  
I love you, I say.  
"I love you, too."  
A dull roar builds, signaling what's to come.  
I manage to crack a smile, and say:  
Exciting time in the world right now.  
You chuckle. For a split second, set against the deep shadows, you remind me of someone else__—

* * *

—__is your wakeup call.__

Head pounding.  
The tremors continue.  
The sound of a phone buzzing next to my head.  
Pain becomes too much to ignore.  
Buzzing. __This is your wakeup ca__—

Turn it off.

Get up, uneasy. Open the windows. Feel like I'm being stabbed through my eyelids.  
Migraine. They've been happening more often. Not this soon.  
Have to look away.  
Shit.  
I should take something for this pain.

Make my way to the kitchen counter, fill a glass of water. Head for the bathroom, check the cabinet; there's aspirin. Take two.

Wait for the ringing to stop.  
Growing desperate. Take two Advil.  
Head in hands.  
Groan a little.

There's a trick to this. You can try it at home.  
Breathe in, out, in measured intervals.

Inhale, hold.  
Exhale, hold.  
Repeat until you've stabilized.

Eventually the pain subsides.  
Turn on the shower.  
Try to savor it. Can't remember the last time I did.

Exit, dress for work.  
The silence is oppressive. Empty contentment to occupy the usual white noise.

Call my father.  
He doesn't pick up.  
Probably busy. It's okay. We can talk later.

Call Angela.  
Hey, I say.  
__"Hey. What's up?"__  
Don't really know why I called her.  
I guess I missed the sound of her voice.  
Fuck, that's cheesy. I don't tell her that. She wouldn't mind, though.  
Just, uh, checking in.  
She laughs. It feels like a hug.

__"Is everything okay?"  
__Yeah. Just a headache, I'll be fine. Is Qwerty okay by herself?  
__"She's all right, now we've given her stuff to do—she really likes that catnip ball."  
__Remind myself to pick up more cat food after work.  
"__How's the presentation?"__ I'd almost forgotten about it. Luckily, it's in order; I made sure of that the night before. Tell her as much. She sounds happy.  
Sometimes I think I love hearing her happy more than I love her.  
Okay, almost as much.  
__"Elliot? Are you still ther—"__

A sudden tremor rocks the whole room. The sound of an explosion in the distance. Car alarms blaring in unison. There's no physical damage sustained to me or the furniture besides the glasses rattling and I manage to stay upright.

Another earthquake, I say. Are you okay?  
__"I'm fine."  
__Weird, right?  
She laughs.  
It's good to be wanted. She tells me she can't wait to see me tonight. Tell her I love her and we leave it at that.


	2. 2

Take a cab to work.  
Walking is a viable option, also. It just takes extra time.

Death could happen at any moment.  
A careless driver hits and causes a pile-up that lasts an hour or two and we're all late to work.  
That's an optimal scenario.  
Worst case, I die horribly and become a statistic that will be mourned and then forgotten.

No, it isn't healthy to think like this.

The weather is nice today.  
Blue skies. Not too hot or cold.

I am, by most accounts, successful. Engaged to a woman that cares about me deeply.  
I have enough friends at work, to get by.  
I keep in touch with my father. Angela and I take good care of Qwerty.

The truth is, I hate talking to most of these people. Angela might be the exception.  
Qwerty is, perhaps, my only real friend.  
I'm not happy about my current state of employment.  
I've felt this way for so long I forget when it first started.  
But who does, really?

Is it possible to love someone so much you'd protect them from your own, miserable existence?  
I don't know.

Perhaps it's easier to run from an imagined problem than turn around and face the lack of one.  
Running in place instead of walking.

Dad would just say I'm nervous.

And I do love Angela. More than she knows.  
I don't have an issue living with her, either.

We all have our secrets we take to the grave.

Sometimes I think about what I could achieve in another life.  
Become a hero, of sorts. At least in my imagination.

I'd save Angela from her parents, or her debt she carries from years in tuition. Rescue my entire floor's worth of co-workers from the invisible hand.  
Why stop there?  
I could save the world, maybe. Create a movement, like Zhi Zhang.  
Or start a revolution. Bring the ones that have remained untouched and unaffected by loss down to their knees.  
A redistribution of wealth most philosophers and self-identified Marxists could only dream of.

But these are only words.  
And the minute I step through that door to E Corp, the dream will end.  
Soon I'll be in a room full of men and women that can't understand what drives the world to its ruin.  
And I'll look each of them in the eye, tell them why they should believe in me as their salvation.  
But maybe we're all kidding ourselves to begin with.

This is no revolution.  
This is cyclical stagnation, and I don't know how to escape.  
There is no exit to a perfect scenario.

I don't know who I can turn to.

The cab door opens.  
I pay the man and exit.


	3. 3

Go to work.  
Consult with Lloyd about the presentation for a minute or two. Evade Ollie's fruitless attempts at camaraderie.  
This is all pointless small talk.  
And Ollie's just a distraction.  
Unworthy of annihilation, or my extended attention.  
I can live with this.

Present the facts to a room full of men and women, as we've mentioned previously.  
No point dwelling on redundancies.

Another secret: I've never been particularly good with people.  
Just taught myself how to go through the motions.  
It's not difficult once you detach the emotional aspect.  
Look for the worst in them.  
Give them a reason to believe in you instead.

Truthfully, I'm not a psychopath.  
I sometimes think my life would be much easier if it were the case.  
But it isn't.

Regardless, the room is sold on my verdict.  
Tyrell is another case entirely.

We haven't talked about him yet.

Wellick is a mystery.  
Smart. Eager to prove himself. Older than I am.  
He isn't married.  
Doesn't care for the dress code.  
In spite of this, he manages to command the room.

He's worth keeping an eye on.  
Future investments and all.  
I have yet to determine what he's after.

At his request we clear the room.  
He catches me before I can leave. "I appreciate your presentation, but I don't think this place is right for us."

And why is that?

"Let me ask you something, Elliot. What's the worst thing about your life right now?"

Well, the fact that you're passing on us already, I'd have to go with this meeting.

"No, seriously. Answer my question."

If I'm being honest, the worst thing in my life is also the best thing.  
I get up every morning, I play my records, I get ready, get my coffee, I come to work.  
I'm stuck in a repetitive, boring routine that feels endless.

And, sure, I've imagined what it would be like to be someone with a more exciting life.  
A risk-taker.  
Someone more interesting.  
But in the end, I know I'm lucky to be where I am.

I've told him this before. He's told me how he feels. There's no point in redundancy.

Tyrell, I say, I pledge to you right now that if you go with Allsafe, the worst will never happen.

"And how can you be so sure?"

Because I've seen what can happen to your company, and I know how to prevent it.

"You've seen what can happen to my company?"

Yes. If you look through our packets, we've created predictive models for every possible attack vector—

"No, no, Elliot. I just wanna know you're on my side."

He reminds me too much of my own reflection.  
He's even wearing the same hoodie.  
I remember when he used to chastise me for wearing all black.  
That wasn't too long ago.  
He won't remember if I ask, I bet.

I've made it a point to be kind to him in this life.  
Call it guilt.  
There are a lot of things better left unresolved.

We're just making up for lost time.

He'll probably refuse.  
I offer to set up an appointment. Make sure to look him in the eye.  
We can talk about this in more depth, I tell him. Are you free next Saturday? We can… schedule the meeting then.

He's taken aback. Then smiles. "That sounds all right."  
It touches me on some level that he would care at all.  
But my job's done here.  
I leave him with the memory of our conversation.

In a perfect world we would have time to catch up, maybe.

This day can't last forever.  
I'll make the most of it.

On the way out my father calls. Pick up. He's sorry he didn't get back with me, he was just looking for his phone.  
Shrug it off. Tell him I'll be happy to have lunch with him.

Exit.


End file.
